IOU A Recovery, Sherlock
by Sherlock Holmes of 221B
Summary: Sequel to Moriarty's Plan: After Operation Lazarus went horribly wrong, Sherlock wound up in the hospital, in a coma. One day, though, a few months after, Sherlock disappears. Moriarty is back, and he has plans for Sherlock, and for London. The one person who can stop him, though, is the one person who Jim has disabled from doing so. (T for use of unspecific drugs.)(Some Sheriarty)
1. Prologue

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Prologue

What Happened To The Detective And The Criminal?

_***Here it is, the sequel to Moriarty's Plan, which, at this time, I have just finished. Because of how it ended, I feel compelled to write a sequel. This will not make much sense if you have not read Moriarty's Plan. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal.***_

John had been in to see his comatose friend every day for the three months that had passed since the fall. It broke his heart, knowing what had happened to the man in front of him, and why. Mycroft explained why they had not told him anything, and why John could now know what had been planned. The man who laid comatose in the hospital had been about to start on his journey to dismantle Moriarty's web, but something had gone wrong. The sniper who had been trained on John had shot the airbag as Sherlock jumped. It was about half deflated when Sherlock hit, causing the latter to hit the ground hard enough, and just so, that he fell into a coma immediately.

John had been walking to the hospital for his daily visit, though there had been no change in his friend's condition since his fall. He felt that he ought to show respect, however, to the man who had been ready to give him up to save him, especially knowing that his friend _would _have died for him, if he had to. He let out a sigh. He wish he could've done more for Sherlock than he'd done.

When he was led to the room, however, he was met with a surprise. Sherlock was gone.

* * *

Sebastian Moran was Jim Moriarty's favorite and most prized sniper. In fact, it had been he who had been trained on John Watson, and who had shot the airbag that would've spared Sherlock from the fate he should've had. The fall still didn't kill Sherlock, no, but Sebastian figured that comatose was close enough. It had been something of a nasty fall, too. He'd broken several bones, including a few in his hands, arms, legs, feet, and ribcage. Of course, that bag had still been half inflated when the detective fell, so the fall didn't do as much damage as he would've hoped.

Since Jim had faked his death, Sebastian had been taken care of him. The criminal had not actually shot himself, no... It was a trick, just a magic trick, preferable to the truth and therefore easier to believe. Jim had pulled the trigger of a device that let out a shooting sound, and caused blood capsules hidden in his hair to burst. Nobody would believe it, because it was just so unlikely. That made the sniper smile. Nobody knew Jim Moriarty like he did; nobody knew what he was capable of. And that was just perfect.


	2. Chapter 1

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 1

Moriarty Has Sherlock

_***Thank you for the support, those of you who have been following the whole story, starting with Moriarty's plan. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal.***_

Immediately upon seeing his friend's absence, John went to inquire. The doctor, however, who had been in charge of Sherlock, said that there had been no change in the latter's condition, and was most surprised upon hearing that Sherlock was gone. He went straight to the room Sherlock had been in, to confirm what John had said, and began to panic.

Surveillance had been knocked out in the hospital for about five hours the night before. Before, Sherlock had been there, same as he had been. After, he was gone. The only thing that could have happened, should the logic assumption (that Sherlock remained in a coma) be right, would be that Sherlock had been taken. The next logical assumption, therefore, would be that it had been one of Moriarty's men who took him. John's blood boiled when he came to that conclusion. That would be a right cowardly, scummy thing to do, kidnap the detective when he couldn't defend himself.

Once they had worked out what had likely happened, Lestrade was called. There was a quiet search for him within an hour, though none of them thought it likely that Sherlock would still be in London.

* * *

Jim Moriarty had had Sebastian pick Sherlock up from the hospital in the dead of night. The latter had earned Jim's respect, and therefore, instead of having the sniper kill the detective, had been rescued, in a sense. When Jim came back, things would explode, people would die. There would be chaos. Sebastian's boss, for some reason, thought that it was worth exhausting time and resources to keep Sherlock safe and hidden away. The sniper didn't get it, but hey... His boss was often very confusing, as was his connection to the detective. He often wondered if there was more between the two than there seemed, but he never dared ask.

His job was to watch over the comatose detective, and that was it. Until it was time for Jim's return, the sniper's only job was to make sure that Sherlock stayed where he was and in stable condition, until the day when the detective was supposed to wake. Jim had calculated how long it would be until his sleeping detective would finally awake. It was in exactly a week. In exactly a week, Jim would return.

* * *

Jim hummed to himself as he walked down the dark corridor that lied expansively beneath his own home. It was well outside of London: His home that he was in at that time was located in a lowly populated area in Ireland. It was a great place to hide away; Jim was never much for clinging to home, but he simply loved the place. It was isolated, private, and not suspicious in the least. It was an old estate, where he was. Electricity was a new addition, by Jim, and the underground storage sort of area was not his addition; it was already there.

He came upon the brightest door in the hallway. It was a shiny, mahogany door, polished regularly. Mahogany was a strong wood, which was suiting, considering what was being held in the room the door secured. He put his hand upon the golden knob and twisted, before pushing the door gently open. It was a hospital-like sort of room. There were heart monitors beeping, and a bed holding the only patient. _Oh, Sherlock... _Jim thought, with a bit of sadness. _How did you get yourself into this? _

* * *

John had been told to go home while Lestrade and the rest of the police force organized the search for Sherlock. Knowing that Lestrade would not call Mycroft, John took it upon himself to do so. He had hardly dialed when he was answered.

"Yes, John?" came the cool, unconcerned voice, from the phone, that he had always connected to Mycroft.

"Lestrade hasn't called you, has he?" John asked.

"No, what's happened? It's Sherlock, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's Sherlock. He's gone missing. Disappeared amid five hours of shot surveillance."

"Surveillance went down? And he went missing? Well, I know for a fact he wasn't faking. You know, John, that he had to have been taken by someone."

"Yes, I do. I just thought you ought to know, and, if possible, help look for him. We don't know who took him, or where to look, and it would be a great time for someone who _can _find him to start trying to do so."

"John, you ought to know, it's highly unlikely that whoever managed to take out surveillance and kidnap Sherlock wouldn't make it so easy to find him again."

"Well, I'm asking if you'll try. After all, it's your brother, who can't defend himself."

"Alright, John. I'm going to actively look for him. Keep your eyes peeled, too."

"Will do. Thank you, Mycroft."

"No problem at all."

Mycroft then hung up.

* * *

Jim sat in a chair close to Sherlock's bed, stroking his hair, and humming a little lullaby, like a mother would to her son. Not that Jim was Sherlock's mother, or trying to be... But Sherlock was under his charge, and that certainly made it feel like Jim was obligated to take care of him. He pulled his hand back, still humming, and his expression turned a bit sad.

"Sherlock, oh Sherlock, look what you've done. But don't you worry. I owe you a recovery, Sherlock. I. O. U."

He stood and leaned down to kiss Sherlock on the forehead, and then went toward the door.

"Sherlock, love, I can't wait to speak to you in a week." he murmured, looking back at Sherlock, before he walked out and back down the corridor.


	3. Chapter 2

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 2

Sherlock's Mind Palace and What Follows

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, and review. I am always up for support and criticism.***_

Sherlock strolled down a corridor, and finally came upon the door he was look for. He had been searching for it for months, and only at that final point had he found it. He'd been completely thrown off a few days ago, when something shook his palace of memories and put him too far back. It had been seven days. Seven more days of being trapped in his mind. He was surprised his mind palace hadn't crumbled and been reduced to rubble by that time. He rubbed his head just thinking about it. The place needed constant repairs when he was trapped in it, and he'd been doing everything he could to keep the place in top shape, but months and months of his constant presence in there had made it hard.

He put his hand on the knob, pondering what would happen when he opened the door. What would be waiting for him? Would John be there? Mycroft? Lestrade? Mrs. Hudson? A regular doctor? He kept his hand warily upon the knob, unable to shake the distinct feeling that none of those would be waiting for him. He didn't know where it was coming from, but he knew that he ought to trust what his mind was telling him. Something was waiting for him that would not be what he expected. It wouldn't be a grave, no, the lights were still on in his mind palace and he had healed. What would it be? With a surge of determination, he turned the knob and opened the door.

* * *

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he let out a gasp. He wanted to sit up, but he couldn't quite do so. The months he had spent in a coma had allowed his body to forget most of how to move. He looked around the room his was in, and felt his heart rate elevate. This was not any hospital he had ever been to in his life, and there were no windows to add comfort to the setting. He was quickly able to determine that he was not even in the same country anymore. This was most definitely... Ireland! What on earth was he doing here?

* * *

"Jim, he's woken up, and he's panicking." Sebastian said after bursting into the room that Jim had been lounging in. When Jim looked up, his expression was not one of surprise, but one who's gotten the result they had been expecting. He folded his newspaper and set it on the shiny brown sidetable beside his chair. He then stood, and strolled to the sniper's side.

"Nothing less than I would have expected." the sniper's boss said, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to come with me, but do not enter the room and do not let Sherlock see you. I shall address him myself, and if he manages to get past me (though I doubt he will), then I'm going to need you to block his way. But, I must emphasize, do not hurt him. He's just come out of a coma and I have no desire to inflict another injury upon him just now."

With that, the criminal walked to the door and held it open for Sebastian. After the sniper had gone through it, the criminal followed, and then sped up to lead the way to Sherlock's room.

* * *

"JIM!" Sherlock shouted in outrage. It had only taken him a moment to connect the dots... Here he was in Ireland, taken by an Irishman. He'd only met one Irishman before, and that was the criminal. While he had thought that Jim had been dead, he spent a lot of time, in his comatose state, in his mind palace, creating theories for how Jim could've faked his death. He'd long since come to the conclusion that Jim was actually still alive. Not that knowing that his enemy was alive helped him at all.

As if on cue, the criminal entered. He strolled over to the chair beside Sherlock's bed, and sat down into it, staring at his detective. He looked Sherlock over, drinking in his appearance.

"Sherlock, I can not express to you how glad I am that you're alright." he said, and reached his hand out to shift a curly, black lock of hair. "I was worried, you know, that you'd have stayed in a coma so long that those doctors would have to let you go. But I did the calculations. And here you are. But then, I wouldn't have let you go, no matter how long you'd stay sleeping. I, unlike the hospital, actually care about /you/, and I have the resources to keep you safe. So, if you'll accept my offer, you'll have a very comfortable situation here."

"But, Jim, I know that I am being missed. I can guarantee that Lestrade is searching or has already searched for me. And Mycroft too, if he doesn't already know." Sherlock said, and shifted slightly, before finally being able to sit up. He let out a sigh after he'd done so.

"Sorry about that, Sher. You're stiff because of the medication you've been on, and I apologize for that, but you would have woken up to quite a bit of pain had you not been on painkillers." Jim said, and ran and hand through Sherlock's hair. "You've been out for months, but I expect you already know that. Look at you, you're in such a bad state. But don't worry. I brought you here to care for you, not to hurt you." At that, Sherlock frowned.

"But the last time we spoke, you tried to kill me." Sherlock said confusedly. "What has changed?"

"You've proven yourself, Sherlock. Why should I get rid of you now? You're not in my way, and comatose was as good as dead when I needed you out of the way. But Sherlock, they've raised you up. You've been relieved of all suspicion, but what a shame that it only happened after you fell into a coma." Jim said brightly. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness.

"When will you allow me to leave, Jim?" he asked. "Certainly you don't feel the desire to keep me here the rest of my life."

"I don't know, Sherlock dear, whenever it is safe for you, whenever I stop caring." Jim said, and kissed his cheek. "You act like a child, Sherlock, and because of that, you need to be watched and cared for. Since nobody else bothered to do so, I took it upon myself. Grow up, and you can leave the nest."


	4. Chapter 3

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 3

What Does A Trapped Detective Do?

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal.***_

After Jim's rather insulting words, the two had argued. Sherlock had insisted that he could take care of himself, Jim didn't really care, and Jim wouldn't save his friends, which made him unworthy of Sherlock's cooperation. Jim had countered that Sherlock was only alive because of him and John, insisted that he did care, and said that Sherlock's friends were not worthy of Jim's protection. At that, Sherlock had tried to run away from Jim, considering it a lost cause. He'd gotten past Jim, but he didn't know that the sniper was there, so the latter easily caught him. He was injected with a mild sedative, just to keep him from trying to escape, and Jim had left him alone.

* * *

After Jim had left Sherlock alone, he immediately got to work on his return with his sniper. There was a prerecorded message to be broadcasted through an isolated server, so as to not be tracked. It would say, "Did you miss me?" over and over, not in live video, but with a picture of Jim in a sort of puppet-like mouth movement. After the message was broadcasted, the building next to Scotland Yard would blow up, the flat across from 221B Baker Street would blow up, the flat across from John Watson's would blow up, and Jim's old flat in London would blow up.

At two in the afternoon, it was time for the broadcast. Some of the men who were stationed in London had set the bombs to detonate, and finally the message was broadcasted.

Jim hacked into the CCTV in London from his laptop in his cozy home. It had no sound, of course, but he needed to see what all would transpire. He first went to view Scotland Yard through the miniature cameras he'd installed. They were all already fretting about, panicked, terrified by the message Jim had broadcasted. He smirked, and a few moments later, there was ash, dust, and smoke, shattered glass and fire, everywhere. That would be the first bomb.

He switched to the surveillance at Baker Street, split surveillance between Mrs. Hudson's room and outside. In a few moments, the windows were blown out and Mrs. Hudson was thrown out of her chair, covered with ash, broken glass and dust everywhere. The landlady was visibly unconscious, and the building was burning. He smirked to himself at the effects of the second bomb.

Jim then switched to the surveillance at the street where the third bomb was. He checked his watch, and when the bomb exploded, he nodded with satisfaction. John, and his lady friend, were both alarmed, and rushed outside to see what had happened. Aha, the soldier and the assassin! Both of them were brave, and tough. It amused him to no end.

After his amusement died down, he went to the surveillance at his flat. It would be for the best to watch it burn, bathe in destruction. Right on time, the bomb exploded. Anything he didn't need had been in that flat. Now it burned, burned, burned. He nodded once more in satisfaction, and then turned off the surveillance from his laptop. A report from his bomber would tell him how many were killed. A half hour later marked the arrival of that information.

27 people died as a result of all four bombs.

* * *

After the sedative had begun to wear off, Sherlock pondered what he ought to do. He had no idea what Jim was up to, and no idea how his friends in London were reacting to his disappearance. He didn't have his phone or anything that could tell him what had happened, so the suspense was simply killing him. He supposed, if he wanted to know that badly, perhaps all he needed to do was ask.

"Jim!" he yelled as loudly as he could muster. "I have a question for you!" He glowered at the door, and waited. He wasn't disappointed; a few minutes later, Jim came into the room.

"You don't have to yell, Sher. I have cameras in here. I can hear everything you say." Jim purred, and went to sit by the bed. "You said you had a question. Well, don't keep me waiting! What's your question?"

"What have you done since the last time I saw you?" Sherlock asked. Jim grinned in reply.

"Ooh, you ask the right questions, my dear. Well, let's see. I nearly killed John Watson, his lady friend, Mrs. Hudson, and Scotland Yard." he said thoughtfully. "None of them died, fortunately, but 27 _other _people _did_. Unfortunate, really. But people don't have much time to worry about that. They're all scuttling about, running, hiding, in case there are more bombs."

"You son of a-"

"Language, Sher. I admit, though, seeing that temper, that's just adorable. You're like a bunny trying to be a bulldog. But, to give you credit... A very smart bunny, albeit a tiny, fuzzy one." Jim said cheerfully. Sherlock huffed indignantly.

"I am perfectly threatening when I want to be." he said.

"But not to me, you're not." Jim said airily, with a bit of firmness. "Because I know you, and I know how you work. You're not threatening, not in the slightest."

"Back to the question I asked." Sherlock said quickly. "You planted bombs in London? Where? Obviously next to Scotland Yard, near 221B, and close to John, but there had to have been more."

"Just one." Jim replied, holding up a finger for emphasis. "And Scotland Yard will find nothing of use in my flat, now."

"You blew up your flat so they wouldn't go searching?"

"Yep. Not like it was of any more use, anyway."

"That seems a bit pointless. You could've just had your stuff removed."

"Blowing it up was easier. And correct me if I'm wrong, Sher, but I didn't ask your opinion." Jim said, suddenly sharp, and stood. "Later, sweetie. Rest." With that, he walked out of the room, closed the door behind himself, and locked it.


	5. Chapter 4

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 4

Jim Finally Admits He Wants Sherlock

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Don't steal. Follow, favorite, and review.***_

Jim ran through his conversation with Sherlock once more in his mind. Somehow, he kept founding himself sidetracked by thoughts of those beautiful, dark curls and those eyes that never seemed to be quite the same color, but gorgeous nonetheless. Jim let out a sigh. He could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for the detective. He stood, resigned, and went to see Sherlock. He locked the door behind himself, and approached the detective cautiously.

"What's changed, Jim?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow at the criminal. "You seem excited, or frightened, or something like that. Has something gone wrong? Are you going to let me go? What-?" He was cut off as Jim closed the distance between them, bent down, and kissed Sherlock softly. The latter was so surprised that he neither pulled away nor kissed him back. Jim pulled back after a moment, and gazed at Sherlock searchingly.

"Are you upset, Sherlock?" he asked, cautiously. Sherlock didn't say anything in response. "Oh, my God. Was that your first kiss, Sherlock?" That got a response, even if subtle. Sherlock blushed, and looked away. "Oh my God, it was. If I had known, Sherlock, I might have made it better." Jim said, with just a bit of regret in his voice. Still, he was glad to be the first one to kiss the gorgeous detective. Not that his surprise, at how Sherlock had never been kissed, had fled so easily. "I'm surprised at you, Sherlock. There must have been girls lining up wanting to do it with you, and you've never even been kissed. How does a gorgeous man such as yourself go thirty-something years without being kissed?"

"You know me, Jim, you should know that I take no interest in such dull, time-consuming, effort-consuming things that reap no results worth the cost." Sherlock said lazily. "As handsome and smart as you are, nothing has changed. I thought you would know that." Sherlock stretched, but made no attempt to get away from Jim, knowing that he'd be stopped before he could make it anywhere. He was surprised to see that Jim looked a bit hurt.

"Please, Sherlock." Jim said, pained. "I can't help it; no one can. You're the biggest arse I've ever met, and yet, somehow, I've fallen for you. Give me a chance, Sherlock. I can treat you well, I can give you anything you want, and no one has to know."

"You killed twenty-seven people and almost killed my friends." Sherlock snapped. "How could I be attracted so such a monster, regardless of how suitable we might be for each other? You would have seen me die without batting an eyelash. I can't mean anything to you, Jim. Stop deluding yourself. Go away." Jim looked even more hurt at that. He let out a sigh, thinking. Maybe if he could show Sherlock what he could do for him, the detective might accept him. He leaned down again and gave him another kiss, a bit deeper than the last but not intrusive. Sherlock hesitated, and started to kiss him back. Jim, though he knew that Sherlock was probably only playing along out of curiosity or maybe even fear, couldn't help but be happy.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I know it probably didn't mean anything to you, but still... Thank you." Jim said.

"I figured I ought to let you have your way in that. I know you might have tried again had I pulled away. Plus, it's somewhat interesting information. Even if I don't end up needing it." Sherlock said, shrugging. "And please don't do that again. I don't particularly enjoy kissing you." Jim looked crushed, but he didn't argue, and instead, nodded. He stood, and went to the door. When he reached it, he looked back at Sherlock.

"Just so you know, Sher..." Jim said, his cold, cruel manner regained, "I'm going to keep you here until you die, or until someone manages to find you. Honest. If someone comes snooping around looking for you, I'll let them take you. But I don't think that's going to happen. I don't believe anyone is going to look for you here in Ireland." With that, he walked out.

* * *

John had just about given up trying to help look for Sherlock, who had remained missing, when he got a phone call from Mycroft. He looked at his phone, at the number, wide-eyed, before he answered the call.

"Please, Mycroft, tell me you've found him, or at least found something." John said in a panic.

"You're in luck, John. I've been screening security cameras from here all the way out to Ireland. I stopped there, because I found out that that's where he is." Mycroft replied in his trademarked cool, calm manner.

"Ireland?" John said faintly. "Why is he in Ireland? What's happened to him?"

"You're not going to want to hear this, John. If you are prepared to possibly take an emotional blow, though, I will tell you."

"I need to know, Mycroft, what happened to him, where he is, who has him, and when we're going to get him back."

"He was kidnapped from his hospital room during the night, as you know. He is in Ireland, in an ancient castle. We'll get him back from Moriarty soon."

"MORIARTY?" John yelled. "He was supposed to be dead! Sherlock went into a coma because he died, Mycroft, you told me so!"

"Moriarty was supposed to be dead. Someone managed to help him fake his death and get him out of my security web without my knowledge. But he is very much alive, and he's taken Sherlock. For what reason, I do not know."

"We'll go later to get him, right?"

"We will, John."


	6. Chapter 5

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 5

Sherlock's Birthday Is Full Of Surprises

_***I do not own Sherlock; Sherlock is property of the BBC. This chapter may be a bit cute and domestic to start, so fair warning. Do feel free to leave reviews, as reviews equal a happy writer. Sorry for the wait.***_

Despite the fact that he was being kept in a small room against his wishes, Sherlock did recognize that his treatment was generally actually rather good. He was allowed out to use the restroom whenever he needed to, he was given painkillers whenever he needed them, and the food that he was given was rather high quality. His breakfasts were nice things like Belgian waffles, his lunches fine subs, and his dinners ranging anywhere from chicken Parmesan to steak. The food was the best part of his stay.

* * *

In spite of what Mycroft had said, Sherlock had not been recovered. Days rolled into weeks rolled into more months. Eventually, John called Mycroft. The latter picked up on the second ring.

"What do you need, John?"

"I need to know where Sherlock is and why he is not back."

"Sherlock's been moved from the location he had originally been traced to. Surveillance has been knocked out in all non-major locations in Ireland. He's fallen off the grid, but I do still have men working on finding him."

John let out a sigh. "Well, if you do find him, will you tell me?"

"I will."

With that, John hung up.

* * *

Eventually, January 6th rolled around: Sherlock's birthday. The detective was still under Jim's power, and had long since given up hope of escape. Even if he was able to attempt an escape, he wouldn't get very far. Besides, he was treated very well. He'd eventually caved, and agreed to date Jim technically. The terms of which were no "mature" activity, and should someone rescue him, the relationship was over.

Sherlock had nearly forgotten about his birthday when he woke up the morning of it. He went downstairs, and was given a a pleasant "good morning" kiss by Jim, as the criminal had done for a while, when he noticed the wrapped package sitting on the coffee table in the living room. That was when he remembered that it was his birthday. He was actually quite surprised that Jim had remembered his birthday and got him a gift.

"You got me something for my birthday?" he asked, his tone mirroring his partial surprise. Jim's face broke into a grin.

"I got you several somethings, but that one was the most expensive and the one I thought you might like the best." he said cheerfully. "After breakfast, you can open your gifts."

"I... Thank you, Jim." he said, surprised. While he had not failed to notice the kindness, and even respect, that Jim had adopted toward him, he also did not fail to remember that the consulting criminal had tried to make him take his own life, and had kidnapped him and held him there for months against his will.

"Don't sound so surprised, Sher. You deserve it. And I know you'll just love it." Jim said.

The two of them ate breakfast (which turned out to be very high quality stuffed French toast) intently, prating about random stuff that was really of no consequence to either of them. After both of them had finished, Jim had Moran clean their dishes up, and led Sherlock into the living room. He held out the large, square box to Sherlock. The latter attempted to determine what was inside, prior to opening it, but upon opening it, he saw that Jim was too clever for that. Inside the large, square box was a long box of about half the height of the box that had held it. When Sherlock opened _that _box, he was surprised. Inside was a highly ornate, expensive-looking violin. He determined that it was a Stradivarius, and he turned it over. His name was engraved on it.

"Wow." he whispered, and picked up the bow. He rested the violin on his shoulder, by his neck, and played a note. It was already perfectly tuned. He put it back in the box. He looked over at Jim, who was grinning at him and his reaction. "Thank you." he murmured, and put the violin back in its box. He then hugged Jim.

Jim was surprised, but happy, and hugged Sherlock back for a moment, before pulling away. "I thought you'd like it. And now, I'm going to go get your less impressive gifts. Be right back." he said, and darted to another room. He came back a moment later carrying two boxes: A small box sitting atop a larger, heavier looking box. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him, watching him set them down next to the box with the violin in it, on the coffee table. "Open the smaller box first. I feel like you ought to see it first." Jim said cheerfully.

Sherlock picked up the smaller box first, as he was told. Jim had apparently not put as much effort into making it hard to deduce before opening this one as he had for the violin. It was clothes. Sure enough, when he opened the box, inside were clothes. He pulled them out and saw that it was a suit. More specifically...

"Westwood." Jim said, grinning. "Yeah. I thought we ought to match, you know. Besides, you have hardly anything to wear here. You've only got two outfits, and they're casual. I know how much you like your suits, though, so I thought: Why not get Sherlock a suit while I'm out getting myself one? Now we will match. Also, I want you to wear that to dinner. I'm taking you out for your birthday."

Sherlock's head snapped up from the suit to stare sharply at Jim. Out? He hadn't been out, awake, since what he had long since begun to refer to as Reichenbach. Jim had not been so careless as to let him out. "You're actually going to let me physically outside, into the world? I assume this is just a birthday treat, then. A test or so, to see if I can be trusted to be let out in the future." he said.

"That's mostly true, yeah. I figured I ought to let you out on your birthday, and if you behaved, I would start letting you out more often. Anyway, enough chatter. Open your next gift. I think you'll like it." Jim drawled impatiently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and folded the suit back up, before putting it back in its box. He set that box aside, and started to open the next box. Once that one was open, he got to see why it had looked so heavy before: Inside was a microscope, several slides, and a bunch of chemicals in bottles. Basically a glorified chemistry set, but he was still grateful. There had been a great nothing for him to do the six months he had been there. It had been terribly boring, and the fact that Jim had gotten that for him meant a great deal. Near the beginning, whenever Sherlock would complain that he was bored, Jim would drop subtle hints about a specific something they could do to fix that, and Sherlock would tell him off, leaving himself more bored than he would have been previously. It was something he had quickly learned from, and had ceased doing.

"I know how bored you get around here, Sher. And one of the most entertaining things to do is something that you do not wish to do." Jim said, and then shrugged. "So I figured, I'll let you get back to your experiments. Anything you need for them, I'll get, but every experiment you perform, I will monitor. Don't make me regret trusting you enough to give you this." he said, and his voice had sharply become one of ice and warning. "Anyway, on a lighter subject... I'm going to make lunch in an hour or so, so go ahead and tell me what you'd like."

"I don't really care... A burger?" Sherlock suggested, shrugging. Even then, he didn't care much about what he ate. He was more focused on Jim's surprises. He thought about where this possible kindness of Jim's could have come from. His thoughts strayed to how long they had been officially "together". About six months, he recalled. At that time, he could not quite seem to get why that might have been important.


	7. Chapter 6

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 6

Sherlock Has To Make A Hard Choice

_***I'm a roleplayer, so I'm nicking a lot of ideas from roleplays I've done. Let's see how it turns out. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Follow, favorite, and review.* **_

Sherlock had had a good birthday thus far; he had eaten the best burger he could recall having, ever, for lunch, and he played his violin for hours. He was smiling all the time. He couldn't quite help it; the fact that Jim loved to listen, so attentively, to his music, made him extremely happy. Even John had not listened to Sherlock play with such enthusiasm. John could only take about an hour; Jim listened to him for hours on end. Sherlock was in love with the violin. Stradivarius violins were, as far as he knew, the best violins out there, and the music that came from it as he played was unparalleled.

Eventually, dinner rolled around. Grudgingly, not wanting Sherlock to stop but needing him to, Jim had Sherlock put the violin away and take a quick shower before getting dressed in his new suit. His hair was relatively neat, he was clean, and his new suit fit him perfectly. It accentuated his figure perfectly, without being too tight or too lose. It quite became him. Jim swelled with pride when he saw him, and held his hand out to him.

"Let's go on ahead to dinner. It's a half-hour drive, but it's relatively early." he said, taking Sherlock's hand and giving it a squeeze. He led Sherlock outside, and paused once they were just outside the door. He let Sherlock take a moment to adjust to his surroundings. It was quite needed, too: Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head up, inhaling deeply, smelling the fresh air, the smell of grass and flowers. After a minute, Jim pulled him along again and led him to a really nice car. Sherlock got in on the passenger side, and Jim got in on the driver side. They buckled up, and Jim started driving.

"So, Sherlock," Jim said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Your first taste of fresh air and sunlight in months. How did it feel? I bet it was wonderful."

Sherlock stared at him, deep in thought. Then, the question registered. "Yeah, it was good. I've been wanting to get out, but you never let me out before. To be honest, that was mean thing to do. I accepted your proposition and became your boyfriend. Why wouldn't you let me outside?"

"Why ask questions to which you know the answer, Sher?" Jim asked, rolling his eyes. "I liked you a lot, maybe even loved you, but I couldn't trust that any feelings you may have had would stop you from running away when I let you out. I'd hate to have had to have drugged you; that would ruin everything we've been building up." Sherlock nodded his understanding, and they stayed silent until they came upon the restaurant. It was really posh, Sherlock noticed, and he raised an eyebrow at Jim.

* * *

When they got to the restaurant, the nicest in the area, as Jim knew well, he found a parking space and pulled into it. He put the car into park, and took the keys out of the ignition. He slipped those same keys into his pocket, and his fingers brushed over the small, velvety box in his pocket. He smiled to himself, and got out of the car.

* * *

They went inside after Jim locked his car, and were shown to the table that Jim had reserved. Sherlock walked in silence, gazing around at the people dressed in all their best clothes. They came to their table, a small table for two, with a candle in the center. Sherlock said across from Jim, and picked up his menu. He read the menu, which was printed in English. He eventually decided on a sandwich, simple, but still good. Jim, on the other hand, ordered steak and potatoes. For drinks, Jim ordered a bottle of red wine, the finest. After they had ordered, Jim seemed intent upon talking cheerfully.

"Another year older, Sherlock, but you look like you haven't aged a day." Jim said with a sigh, gazing at Sherlock. "You are such a beautiful sight. I know you won't give me everything because of the circumstances of our relationship, but I really do love you."

Sherlock nodded. He had come to rather like Jim over the past few months, despite the very circumstances of their relationship that Jim had alluded to. "I suppose I love you too, then." he murmured, though he wasn't sure if he quite _loved _Jim. Jim noticed, but he didn't seem to care. He was overjoyed.

When their food came back, quickly, they ate it swiftly, and in silence, accompanied by the wine. When Sherlock was finished, he pushed his plate forward, and finished the rest of his glass.

Jim finished shortly after him, and followed suit. Sherlock watched him, wondering if he was going to start a new conversation. Instead, he noticed that Jim took a deep breath. A moment later, he got on the floor, on one knee, and pulled out the velvet box that held a very ornate ring with multiple jewels. He opened the box and held it out.

"I know six months isn't terribly long, and I must be crazy to do this under the circumstances, but... I really love you, Sherlock, and I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?" Jim said, watching Sherlock carefully, nervously.

Sherlock's eyes widened immediately, and he covered his mouth. He could not even express the level to which he was surprised, and it _was _a rather difficult decision. He weighed the benefits and the consequences for a moment, glancing around and seeing people staring at both of them. Finally, he made up his mind.

"Yes."


	8. Chapter 7

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 7

Sherlock, Shock, and a Choice

_***Sorry for the wait, my lovelies. I have several stories I am working on presently, and I owe it to those who read and follow those to update them. I mustn't ruin my work by rushing it. Thanks for your patience. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, and review.***_

Sherlock looked down at the ring that sat on his finger, glimmering and glittering. It was odd; not the ring itself, but what it meant. He honestly had not foreseen this: He was _engaged _to a man who had once tried to kill him. They would get married elsewhere, as Ireland did not permit same-sex marriage, and once they were married, Sherlock would lift the restrictions off of their relationship. He was having a somewhat difficult time adjusting to the fact that he was engaged. He was engaged, he was the one with the ring on his finger. It just struck him as odd.

The ring had been a thick, silver band with a large, blunt diamond surrounded by several smaller diamonds. It really was a gorgeous ring, and it really did suit Sherlock. Nothing less than he would expect from Jim. However, the proposal still surprised him. It seemed extremely out of character for Jim to propose to him. In spite of that, he did anyway. Why? Did Jim actually love him that much? Or did he just want Sherlock lifting the restrictions off of their relationship? Did he just need companionship? Did he need someone to just be there for him sometimes, perhaps a trusted person for him to talk to and cuddle with and such? He honestly didn't know.

Eventually, they arrived back at the castle. When they got inside, Jim pulled Sherlock onto the couch and gave him a big kiss, and cuddled him. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head and held him close, clearly ecstatic. For some reason or another, Sherlock could not extend the same measure of excitement and ecstasy. So he let Jim do, without returning any of it.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, frowning slightly.

* * *

John's phone rang while he was sleeping. He grumbled, shifting, and pulled out his phone. He answered it without even checking the number.

"What do you want?" he grumbled into the phone.

"You're going to want to hear what I've got to say, John." Mycroft said in his cool voice.

"Make it quick, it's three in the morning..." John replied groggily.

"Sherlock's been found." Mycroft said simply.

John sat bolt upright on his bed and then immediately stood, changing out of his pajamas and into his clothes.

"Where is he? How did you find him?" John asked.

"A very high class restaurant in Ireland has surveillance of its own that Moriarty did not hack, for some reason or another. He and Sherlock were caught on surveillance there, I've been informed." Mycroft replied. "In any case, by screening the surrounding area, we've found an estate that is most likely his, and he still has Sherlock, so if he is there, so is Sherlock."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go get him!" John said, and finished dressing himself. He got his coat on, as well as his shoes, and headed out the door.

"There's a car waiting outside for you already, John, to take you to the airport. I am waiting there, with two tickets that will take us to the closest area in Ireland as possible to Sherlock and Moriarty."

"Thank you, Mycroft." he said, and headed down the stairs. He got into the car, after locking up, and he was driven to the airport.

* * *

Sherlock and Jim had cuddled a bit after dinner, the latter feeling a bit upset because Sherlock's enthusiasm about his proposal did not match his own. After that, they went to bed, the same bed, in Jim's room, and went to sleep, unconcernedly. Sherlock didn't take the ring off.

* * *

After John had gotten to the airport, he met with Mycroft, who had been waiting for him. Together, they boarded the plane, and within hours, they were in Ireland, and in a car on their way to the manor which Mycroft had alluded to earlier. When that same manor came into sight, there was no doubt in his mind: That belonged to Moriarty. No one else would bother keeping such a large estate so clean and so polished. They finally came to a stop in front of it.

"This is definitely it." Mycroft said as he got out of the car and locked it quietly. "Be quiet, okay?" he said, and walked up to the door. It was one in the afternoon by the time they arrived. John followed him, shielding his eyes from the sun, and stopped in front of the door, behind Mycroft. The latter lifted a fist and knocked thrice upon the door.

* * *

At the time that the knock came upon their door, Sherlock and Jim were eating lunch. Sherlock looked up from his plate of food and frowned at the door. That knock... Had Mycroft managed to find him? It would have been extremely difficult for him to have done, if he hadn't managed it already. Sherlock stood himself to go over to the door, but Jim pushed him gently back into his seat and told him to stay there for the moment.

"Who is it?" Jim asked, frowning at the door. Who would be coming to call right now? His presence here should've gone undetected by everyone, save Sebby and Sherlock.

"James Moriarty, I have come to take my brother back." Mycroft said firmly, through the door. Jim bit his lip. Oh no... He and Sherlock were only engaged; Sherlock could still walk out now. It was why he had proposed to Sherlock: Marry him, so that he could keep him forever, but he'd been a bit late in doing so, it seemed. He let out a sigh. A deal was a deal, and this would be the end of the game, it seemed. He opened the door and looked at Mycroft, and then at John.

"Come inside, both of you, if you will." he murmured. Both Mycroft and John stepped inside, the former more politely than the latter. They looked over at Sherlock, both of them, and took his appearance in. He was extremely well-kept, his suit Westwood just like Jim's, and his hair clean and shiny. He was looking at them as well, frozen. For the first time in a year, for the first time since his fall, he was seeing them. He stood, ghostlike, and walked over to them. He put his hand, the one with the ring on it (not that the ring was on his mind at the time), on Mycroft's chest, just to make sure that he was really there. Mycroft certainly noticed the ring, and his eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to Jim.

"You proposed to him? _And he accepted?_" Mycroft asked, somewhere between surprised, confused, and livid. "I know your game, Moriarty. You wanted him to marry you so that when we finally came, he would not want to leave. But you're not married yet, and I know what Sherlock will choose to do." He looked back at Sherlock expectantly.

"Sherlock has grown to love me over these past six months." Jim said icily, crossing his arms and shooting Mycroft daggers. "We'll see what he chooses. He'll remain loyal to his fiance, won't you, Sherlock?"


	9. Chapter 8

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 8

Sherlock's Choice Is Made For Him

_***Sorry again for the wait. I understand that I left you with a sizable cliffhanger. I'm back now, though. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, and review. Thank you.***_

Sherlock just stared at them for a few moments before it really connected, what he was being asked to do: Go with his brother and betray his fiance, or stay with Jim, and betray his brother. He covered his mouth, his eyes flicking between the two of them. He could not make his choice, just then. He stood in silence, and then darted toward his room, and away from them. They did not follow.

* * *

"I admit, it was wrong of us to put pressure on him like that..." Jim murmured. "But he's my fiance now. I've kept my nose clean ever since I got my hands on him, save when I blew up some parts of London. He should be able to give me a chance. I've been good for him. I've treated him as well as I could, given the circumstances."

"Yes, it was wrong of us to pressure him... That much is true. But you are a murderer, a blackmailer, a thief, and much more. How could I sit by and let my brother marry a man like that? For all I know, you're masking abusive tendencies until he can't leave you, until you're married. I understand that I am asking him to be disloyal to the only fiance he may ever have, but I simply cannot allow him to marry you." Mycroft replied. They had all sat down in the living room. Jim and Sebastian were sitting on one couch, and John and Mycroft were sitting on the one across from them. Only Jim and Mycroft were talking.

"I love him, Mycroft, and he loves me. If you tear his relationship with me apart, you may ruin any possibility of him ever getting married. I have the resources to care for him and protect him and give him everything he could ever want. I would never hurt him, not now. What's in the past is past. Please, just give me a chance." Jim said.

"You know I would, but I simply cannot trust you. You tried to kill him, and then spirited him away without permission to here. You could've been doing anything to him." Mycroft replied.

"I promise, Mycroft. I promise I have never hurt him. Call him out here, ask him if you need to. Watch his eyes, watch his breathing. They will both be evident of truth. I have not harmed a hair on his head. I have prevented other people from doing so." said Jim, starting to get frustrated.

"But you have harmed hairs on other peoples' heads, regardless of how you've treated Sherlock. If he marries you, he might begin to accept your work and stop trying to stop you. I can't let that happen." Mycroft replied.

"For God's sake!" Jim shouted, and stood. "At least let me come back and live with him in Baker Street. We can marry, and then I'll leave him, if he wants me to. Please. I love him, you could never understand. Let me marry him, and I'll leave. It is likely he will not fall in love again. At least let me have the pride of saying that I was the first person he loved, and will be the last. Marrying him can't hurt. He will never marry anyone else."

Finally, Mycroft looked hesitant, considering it. He could tell that Jim was being genuine, and he knew he was right. Sherlock would never fall in love with anyone else. If Jim turned away from crime for Sherlock, wouldn't that be all the better? "Very well..." he said at last. "You can marry him, and whatever comes with that. But if you hurt a single hair on his head, there is nowhere you can hide where I will not put a bullet in your head."

Jim's eyes widened at the words Mycroft was speaking in such dark tones. He then closed his eyes, and nodded. "Thank you..." he murmured.

"You two shall get married here within the next week. When that time is up, John and I shall return and bring Sherlock home, where he belongs." Mycroft said. He then stood, and gestured for John to do the same. "Come, John. We shall do as I've said. They have a week to themselves." With that, he and John walked out the door, and left.

* * *

Jim stood outside the door to the room that Sherlock had first woken up in. That room was the one that Sherlock was in at the time. He softly knocked thrice upon the door, leaning against it.

"Sherlock." he murmured, and pulled out the key to the door. "Sherlock, I've news for you."

"Is he still trying to separate us?" came the soft reply.

"No. But you and I have a week. During this week, we are to get married and do whatever else together before I have to let you go." he murmured. He gave a start as the door opened, showing Sherlock.

"No." the latter said softly, instantly.

"No?" Jim asked.

"No." Sherlock repeated. "I want to stay with you, or for you to stay with me. If we are to be married, that is what ought happen."

"I am fairly sure that it is only for your sake that he has not already slapped cuffs on my wrists and Sebastian's wrists. I don't think it prudent to push our luck." Jim said.

"Well, push it anyway. I'm not going to marry you and then let you go." Sherlock said.

Jim smiled weakly. "Look at you... you're so attached, now. It's quite endearing, to be perfectly honest. But you may have to let me go, my dear. It's the truth. I like it as much as you do."

Sherlock pulled Jim to himself and gave him a quick kiss. "I won't give you up so easily." he whispered.

"I know you won't." Jim said.


	10. Chapter 9

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 9

The Week Is Up

_***I think I've lost some love by putting Jim and Sherlock together. I always like to hear what you have to say. Don't give me the cold shoulder. D: I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Follow, favorite, and most particularly, review.* **_

In the course of one week, Sherlock and Jim planned a small wedding, carried it out, and had settled back down. The fact of marriage had formed a stronger sort of bond between the two, like Sherlock appreciated Jim more. He treated him better, and Jim did the same. Sherlock was not confined to his room; he was allowed to roam wherever he pleased. Despite the peace of it all, they had not forgotten what they had been told: Mycroft would be coming back to take Sherlock home.

* * *

Sherlock had taken to reading the newspapers. He was currently reading an article about rising temperatures, though he wasn't terribly interested in the subject. It was just something for him to do until he felt like playing the violin again or doing an experiment. A knock on the door made Sherlock realize that he had been reading the same line for the past few minutes. He then felt nervous: That would probably be Mycroft. He sighed, and went to the door.

Upon opening it, he found that he was exactly right: Mycroft was there, and so was John. The latter looked very slightly peeved, as though Sherlock's choice of a significant other upset him. Of course, that didn't exactly come as a surprise to Sherlock: He had married a criminal with an expansive criminal web who had tried to kill both of them on several occasions. He let them in hesitantly: A deal was a deal.

They stepped inside and looked around, even though nothing had changed since the last time they'd been there. Sherlock padded away, and returned a minute later with Jim. He was holding his hand, and came to a stop with him in front of Mycroft and John. The latter glared at the connected hands. Jim glowered at Mycroft and John.

"You know he doesn't want to leave." he said coldly. "I know you know that."

"I've afforded you both enough already. He's married to you; he won't even consider dating someone else. But it is looking like Sherlock may be starting to develop some sort of unrealistic respect and love for you. I'd call it Stockholm Syndrome, except you haven't been hurting him. In any case, you're bad for him. My brother is coming with me whether he wants to or not." Mycroft replied coldly.

"He's right." Sherlock said dazedly. He hadn't even realized how out of character his actions had been. "I love you, Jim, but I shouldn't. I... I have to go with him. I have to leave you."

"Sherlock." Jim protested. "We're married. Does that mean nothing to you? I can't change what I've done to you, but I have been extremely kind to you. You're just going to throw that away? Please. I don't want you to go. The fact that you love me just means that you have a heart."

"Don't listen to him, Sherlock. He's bad for you. You're coming with us, and now. The longer we stay, the more tempted you will be to stay." Mycroft said, and grabbed Sherlock's arm. "You know I wouldn't get physical, but we have to get you away from him." he said, and jerked Sherlock away, dragging him outside with John's help.

"Hey! No! Paws off! He doesn't want to go!" Jim protested, following them. Sherlock meanwhile, was struggling against them, but he was never that strong, so they kept a constant, firm grip on him.

"At least let me stay with him at Baker Street. I've been quiet since the London bombing incident. It was for him. I protected him." Jim said furiously. "Just let me stay with him! He's closer to me than anyone else!"

"I quite disagree with that." Mycroft replied. "He would disagree only because he's been away from those who truly care for him for too long."

"He's afforded me privileges that he hasn't anyone else. I _know _him better than anyone else, in every way." Jim said. "Just give me a chance!"

"No. My brother cannot be around you! You did him a kindness by giving him all you did. But you gave him too much. He took more than he should've because he was infatuated. My brother has lost a part of himself because he stayed with you. By taking him away, perhaps he can get most of it back." Mycroft replied. With that final statement, he carried Sherlock to the helicopter he'd arrived in, and pulled him in. He then had John keep a hold of him until he piloted the helicopter off the ground. It was only then that Sherlock was let go.

"No!" he wailed. "No, that's my husband! Let me go!"

"Sherlock, you're not in your right mind. Just be quiet." John said, running his hands through Sherlock's hair. "Calm down, and tell us everything that happened since you woke up there."

"I'm not going to tell you, after what you just did." Sherlock snapped.

"Stop being stubborn and just bloody tell us what happened." John replied snappishly. "We have to know if he ever did hurt you."

"The closest he ever came was a sedative."

"What?! Tell us! Now! Or I will see to it that Mycroft has someone arrest or kill Moriarty!"

"Fine!" Sherlock said, crossing his arms. "I'll tell you the bloody story!"

With that, he began to tell John about his first moments after waking up, what had happened, and how that had evolved into that present day. Mycrpft and John both listened attentively, both of them frowning when Sherlock told them about the sedatives. It only took them a while to get to the place where they could return the helicopter, which was, fortunately, only a stone's throw from the airport. They rented a car after the helicopter return, and boarded their plane, right on time.


	11. Chapter 10

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Chapter 10

A New Enemy

**_*Thanks to all who have been following me. This story was mostly me changing Moriarty's character and ridding the future of all future romantic attachments for Sherlock. Now, I can move on to the next part. This shall be a series. I did not expect it to be, but it will be. In the next one, we will see Magnussen, I hope. Sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoy.*_**

After they had gotten onto the plane, Sherlock finally resigned himself to the fact that he was leaving. He was only sad about it for a few minutes, though, because a new realization quickly sank in... Back to London, back to Baker Street, back to the underground world of London's criminals (which was, admittedly, less impressive without Moriarty there)! He found himself smiling in a wider fashion than he had in years. It was the best feeling in the world, better than any drug.

John certainly seemed to notice, and quickly too. A few minutes after his demeanor changed, he looked over at John and saw him grinning.

"What?" Sherlock asked, almost defensively.

"I'm glad you're feeling better about going back to London." John said to him. "It wasn't good, especially for me, to have to go so long with you missing or in a coma, and then find out you've been having tea parties with the man who tried to kill us. I was injured by one of the bombs, even if insignificantly. I just want to know why you would let that happen. You let him ruin the lives of so many people. People died, Sherlock. You let that happen." By the end of John's little tirade, Sherlock was wearing an expression of notable hurt. He stood up and went to the bathroom, not wanting to talk to John any more.

John sighed as he watched him go. He hadn't meant to rant it him; it had just happened. Why did he talk to Sherlock like that when it seemed clear that he probably had some degree of Stockholm Syndrome? He was a doctor, for goodness' sake; he should've known better than to talk to Sherlock like that. He should've considered that Sherlock may not have been _allowed _to leave. Sherlock didn't _let _any of that happen... He was completely unable to stop it. He put his head in his hands, feeling ashamed. He would apologize when Sherlock came back.

* * *

Sherlock stayed in the restroom for several minutes, pondering what John had said. He felt extremely bad, making his friend feel that way, but having been helpless to do anything. He put his head in his hands, and just leaned against the wall. What could he have done? Would John have preferred that he had made the experience as unpleasant as possible for him? He sighed. He wasn't sure what he should've done.

Eventually, he decided he was being idiotic about hiding himself away in the bathroom, and he went back out to his seat. It was clear that John had been waiting for him, but the moment that he'd sat down, John immediately looked on edge. It confused Sherlock, slightly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm sorry for everything I said to you." he said stiffly, and looked for a moment like he wanted to say something else, but refrained from doing so. Sherlock was going to ask, but decided to settle for the apology.

"Thank you. I forgive you. You do know I couldn't do anything, don't you?"

"I do know that. I was just upset." John murmured.

"It's alright, John." Sherlock replied.

"I've got something else I need to tell you." John said, and looked slightly uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"I think you may have developed Stockholm Syndrome while you were with Moriarty. Even if only mild."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. It doesn't suit you."

"I mean it."

"You're wrong!" Sherlock hissed. "All my feelings for him were and are real."

"But only because you have developed Stockholm Syndrome."

"Drop it, John!"

John sighed, and turned to look out the window. Sherlock pulled out a book and began to read it. For the rest of the way home, they either pointedly ignored each other, or were sleeping.

* * *

Eventually, they arrived at an airport; the closest one to London. They then rode in a car, John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and another assistant of the latter's, to Baker Street.

Sherlock, upon his arrival, got out of the car, and looked at it. He did not go in, but just stared at it. Not only was it like a ghost of his past to him, but something seemed off about it. He turned to Mycroft, and then asked about it.

"What happened here? Something's off."

"It was one of the locations that got bombed."

"That's the second time he's had the place bombed!"

"It was just meant as a message."

"No matter. He told me he was sorry for all the bombs, and he wasn't lying." Sherlock said, and then went up. John followed, but Mycroft did not. The latter wanted to catch up and speak with Sherlock later, alone.

Sherlock took a seat in one of the chairs. It wasn't his old chair, but it was still good. John took a seat in the other one.

"...I didn't tell you everything I wanted to. That you need to know. On the plane, I mean." John murmured, nervously. Sherlock stared at him for a moment. It seemed like John was about to tell him something big. Something important. Something he was a bit guilty about.

"Tell me now, then." he said, at last.

John paused for a moment, and Sherlock knew he was gathering himself for whatever it was that he was about to say. "After we left... An employee of Mycroft's went into Moriarty's home there, and Moriarty and Moran were shot and killed." he said, finally.

Sherlock was in shock.


	12. Author's Notes

IOU A Recovery, Sherlock

Author's Notes

It took me a long time to write this story, and for that, I apologize. It's been quite busy for me, and unfortunately, fanfiction has not been on my list of priorities. But, I've finished it now. Thanks to all who have stayed with me, and read my story to the end. I also apologize for any feels I may have caused with this story and its plot twists. I'm a bit of an evil author, and to be honest, I'm incredibly changeable. This story did not go even close to what I expected.

I expected this story to have Moriarty get found quickly by Mycroft, and get killed when Mycroft went to save Sherlock, right in front of the latter's eyes. But it developed into a fluffy, romantic thing, and I apologize for that. But the romance is over, now: Sherlock will never be with any one else. He really did love Moriarty, or he thought he did, and swallowed by grief, he won't have a relationship with another living soul. Oops.

I am going to post the next fanfiction in the series, and I will modify these notes to include the link, and I will give the series a name. I would love help, choosing a name. I've got several ideas, right now:

-"Moriarty's Plan Series"

-"Bombs and Fluff Series"

-"A Different Moriarty Series"

If you would tell me which one you prefer, I would be grateful. Thanks to all who followed the story. SuperWhoLockGirl53 and TheGryhan were ones who followed most consistently, so thank you. I hope you will read my next fanfiction, when I start writing it.


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